I called you first
by graygirl
Summary: Chuck was screwed. Blair hadn't waited long enough for him to be able to tell her he was bleeding out. Now, Blair was running for real; will she get to him in time? Chuck/Blair...


Disclaimer: _Gossip Girl is not mine, of course. No copyright infringement is intended..._

* * *

She was running, really running. To her sides the walls of the hallway were flying past her. People remained blurs on the periphery, so fast was she going. She didn't even care about the impression she was surely leaving; didn't care that someone would probably recognize her and just as surely inform "Gossip Girl" about those latest news.

She couldn't slow down. Not before she'd reached her destination. Not before…

* * *

When her cell phone jumped to life Blair expected the caller to be anyone but Chuck. Of course she was mistaken. She couldn't help frowning once she read his name flashing at her from the display, the only source of light in the back of the car she was riding in. She felt the five letters burn themselves into her retinas and was angry for that fact, too.

Blair could so totally live without his name being etched into her field of vision for the next couple of minutes. But no…

"Chuck," she finally sighed into the receiver and wondered what had actually made her respond to his call, anyway. She was prepared for any sort of stupid remark coming from him but was surprised when the line remained quiet. Well, "surprised" might not quite be the correct term for what she was feeling. "Annoyed," maybe? Yes, "annoyed" hit the mark pretty accurately.

"Hello-ho?" she made after a while, forcing herself to feel a little more indifferent about the ominous call. As per usual, her strategy worked quite well, and quickly she decided her time was too precious to be wasted on waiting for one Chuck Bass to make up his mind and start talking.

Her voice sounding more than slightly aloof, she therefore said, "Listen, Chuck, I don't have time for any of your stupid games today. I'm on my way to—" (Wait, and why should she tell him the location? Why should she give him a clue as to where he could find her? Knowing Chuck, he might even get it into his head to show up there and embarrass Blair in one way or another. Or show up there and ignore her… She didn't know what she'd hate more.)

"If you got nothing to say then DON'T CALL."

With that she disconnected the line and resumed checking her make up in the mirror one last time.

* * *

Blair felt exhaustion creep up in her limbs but she tried to push it to the back of her mind, along with all the horrific images that were trying to force their way to the forefront of her thoughts. No; she couldn't go there now.

She had to keep on running.

Once she'd reached the admittance and asked what she needed to know she had to make another decision.

Elevator, or stairs?

She tried with the elevator for she was a Waldorf after all. Pushing the button repeatedly, willing the thing to come down and open for her, she eventually lowered her head in resignation. This was taking too long.

Regarding her shoes, beautiful, pricey sandals (and no Manolo's, mind you. Everyone wore those these days…), the brunette suddenly bent down until she could reach them with her outstretched arm and swiftly took them off.

To the stairs then. And fast.

* * *

Her car had just stopped in front of the opera building when Chuck called again. This time, though, he actually said something. Or rather, he breathed her name down the line between what Blair could only make out to be gasps for air. His voice sounded raspy, like it did right after he'd woken up from a deep sleep. Or like after a party that had gone on for too long.

It sounded like him. And it was just like him to call her when drunk, or sleepy. Or simply bored.

But Blair didn't have patience for his usual games, not tonight. Not after everything. There was no room for a Chuck Bass in her life. Not anymore; if ever there had been…

"What do you want, Chuck? Make it quick," was all she said to him.

Her chauffeur opened the door and held it open for her, just when she heard Chuck call her name again. "Blair." It was no more than a whiff of air rustling down the line, sending unwanted shivers down her rigid spine.

Closing her eyes momentarily, she willed herself not to give in to the feelings that threatened to be reawakened by hearing him say her name like that. Just by saying it; period.

"I…"

She could discern a slight waver in his voice. Intent on learning why he'd called, intent on hearing everything, she didn't even dare breathe.

Until he failed to continue telling her anything once again.

Biting down on her lip she suppressed the urge to yell at him. She didn't want him to know how he still managed to get to her, how everything he did or did not do still affected her so terribly.

At least she sighed and said, "You know what, Chuck Bass? You are stealing my time. And I won't have you do that. As I said, I don't have time for any of your stupid games. Breathe down someone else's line if that turns you on. I'm not interested… Grow up, Chuck.—Well, you'll have to excuse me now, people are waiting for me." She paused. A part of her was expecting the usual coming from Chuck, some kind of snarky comment, about the ominous "people" she had mentioned. Or anything else she'd said. But when nothing came, she simply continued, "—Oh, and Chuck? Don't call me again. Ever. Because, you and I? We have nothing to talk about." Her words sounded more biting, more disappointed than she had intended, yet she couldn't take them back now.

Blair Waldorf never took back her words.

She ignored the pang she felt at his total lack of a reaction, took her chauffeur's hand and allowed the strong, tall man to help her out of the car. Only then did she finally flip her cell phone closed and switched on her typical Blair-Waldorf-showcasing-for-the-public smile.

It blanketed her inner feelings well. Just as usual…

* * *

Finally she reached her destination: an off-white door among off-white doors, looking rather inconspicuous. It would have been funny, really, were it not for…

Blair took a deep breath as she came to stop in front of that door. Letting go of the hem of her dress, she was only holding her shoes in one hand now. The other was free to knock…

She had to take a few more deep breaths before she could muster enough courage to actually stretch out that hand and at least touch the surface in front of her. Her palm pressed to what she took to be some cheap wood-ersatz (for this was a public facility after all), Blair closed her eyes and lowered her head until her forehead nearly touched the door as well.

It was then that the lock quietly slid open as if of its own accord and nearly made her stumble into the room in front of her. She could barely stop herself from falling forward as the door revealed what lay hidden behind it.

Clutching the previously outstretched hand to her mouth in a show of sudden shock, she froze and stared, swallowing down a painful gasp.

In the middle of the room, outstretched on a white standard hospital bed, lay Chuck Bass, his face—or what she could see of it—nearly as chalk white as the pillow his head was resting on. He looked so weak, so—fragile, so not like his usual cocky self. Even his perfectly formed lips bore no more color than a slightly bluish tinge.

And yet, how she wished she could just kiss those lips now…

But he seemed to be oblivious to the fact that she was even present, too focused were his sunken eyes on the person sitting vigil by his side, their tall frame slumped in what Blair could only read as an uneasy sleep.

Nate.

Just as her mind processed that new piece of information, she felt Chuck's eyes roam over her from afar. Recognition suddenly turned his gaze into a piercing stare, and she heard him call her name again for what must have been the umpteenth time that night.

It was a quiet sound at most. Blair suspected he had whispered so as not to wake his friend rather than still feeling too weak to put more force behind his words.

"Blair…"

Swallowing drily, she eventually took a few steps into the room, then a few more, until she reached his bedside, the one opposite Nate's sleeping form. She knew she was forcing Chuck to turn his head. She knew it and yet couldn't help it.

"Chuck," she quietly breathed once his eyes met hers again, and her hands fidgeted in front of her, undecided as to whether it was okay to touch him. Or not…

Eventually, though, she just did. She bent down and cupped his chin, gently sweeping a few strands of hair out of his pale face. She saw him close his eyes and was pained to realize that apparently he didn't want her there; didn't want her to touch him like that. But he seemed to be too weak to protest much. With one arm encased in a fresh cast, the other hooked up to an IV drip, he didn't seem in much of a position to shove her away. Though whether she should welcome that, she didn't know.

Chuck Bass was in the hospital. Chuck Bass. Lying there, bruised and broken, right in front of her. He had tried to call her. Repeatedly. And she hadn't known the urgency of those calls. She simply hadn't _known_.

"Oh God, Chuck. Why didn't you tell me—," she burst out quite unintentionally, for she already knew the answer all too well. (Because she hadn't let him…) And still. "Why did you tell Nate but not me?"

She could feel hot tears start in her eyes and fought to keep them at bay.

"Because—he didn't hang up on me. Blair," he said, his voice firm now, cold; the way he said her name, it sounded like a curse.

"Oh Chuck. I'm…" Blair Waldorf didn't do apologies; especially apologies to guys. "I'm so sorry. Are—are you alright? What happened? Oh, Chuck…"

Screw those tears, she could no longer stop them from falling down, feeling oddly calming on her burning cheeks. And she no longer cared. She didn't care that he was witnessing her crying her heart out over him. Just as she didn't care who had seen her running through the hallways of a hospital to Chuck's side. The hallways of a shabby community hospital, to boot. But she was sure a transfer to some private clinic or other was already under way; if she knew Chuck—and Nate—only half as well as she thought…

She didn't care, though, didn't care that this was not a place a Blair Waldorf liked to be seen in. She didn't care about anything other than that Chuck was still alive…

* * *

She had hung up on him, again. Later he would try to blame it on the loss of blood that had made him feel all light-headed, but her reaction truly hurt him. She had hung up on him, expecting only the worst of him. Phone sex… He chuckled to himself at the thought, but his ribs started hurting where those idiots had kicked him earlier, and his chuckle died in a pathetic coughing fit.

As if it wasn't bad enough that he had had to revert to calling for help. He was Chuck Bass after all. He didn't call for help.

Unless he ended up insulting a bunch of white trash idiots and they were actually resorting to fist-fighting and kicking him to make him pay. Oh, they truly deserved being called white trash, since they weren't even able to fight with words, those troglodytes (of which he never failed to inform them, not until they broke his arm and—for one blissful moment—he delved into the beautiful realm of unconsciousness.)

He so wanted it to be Blair who came for him. Or a part of his clouded brain wanted it, anyway. Though he had to wonder what made him wish for that. The fiery brunette wasn't exactly the epitome of a female Knight-in-Shining-Armor as it was.

Or was she?

There was something about her… something that made him… Not better, but…

_Better_.

But she had refused to allow for the chance that he might be calling about something serious. She had refused so that he had been forced to call someone else; Nate. Because no matter what was going on between him and Nate, no matter how angry they might be at one another, when it came down to it, Nathaniel Archibald was there for Chuck Bass (just like Chuck would always be there for him).

"Chuck? What is it? It's friggin' two o'clock, man…"

It took him forever to get the words out. Forever; but Nate—good old Nathaniel—waited it out. And came to rescue him…

* * *

And Chuck would always be there for Blair.

No matter what… no matter her refusal to listen to his pathetic beg for help earlier, he couldn't _not_ be there for her if ever she needed him.

So he didn't turn away when suddenly she pressed her soft lips to his face, but answered her kiss with one of his own, ignoring the pain he felt as he tried to raise his arms to pull her into an embrace, ignoring the hurt he'd felt at her previous rejection.

"I called _you_ first, you know?" he finally whispered between kisses, staring into her dark eyes, looking for something; he didn't know for what. A hint of understanding? Of love? He didn't know and didn't care once her features softened as she smiled a sad smile at him, repeating her apology.

With one movement of his hand he stopped her, touching his index fingers to her lips.

* * *

She was no longer aware of the presence of a sleeping Nate. She wasn't aware of the half-open door to their room, revealing them to the eyes (and hidden cameras) of strangers, ready to report their every move and action to the press.

She wasn't aware of anything other than Chuck Bass, cocky, self-confident Chuck, reciprocating her second tender kiss, eventually turning it into one of his: passionate, painful, addictive.

For it was always only them: Chuck and Blair. No matter what…

* * *

_Thanks for reading. Any thoughts, anyone?_


End file.
